"Inga," I said, my voice low, rough, shaking more than I wanted, "I know this is sudden. Hell, it's more than sudden. I shouldn't feel this way yet." I looked up at her—really looked—at the girl who had survived bombs and hunger and loss and cruelty, who stitched her dresses and pieced her life together out of ruins and still managed to laugh with her little brother.
"But to hell with should," I whispered.
Her eyes filled instantly—bright, shimmering, breaking my heart cleanly in two.
"I love you," I confessed. The words landed in the quiet like a vow.
"More than I ever thought possible."
Her hands trembled; one tear escaped and slid down her cheek before she could wipe it away. I wanted to catch it with my thumb. I wanted to kiss it away. I wanted to take every tear she'd ever shed and bury them so deep they could never reach her again.
"I never thought I'd find someone like you," I continued, my voice cracking. "Someone warm, and strong, and giving—even when you don't have anything left to give."
She shook her head, but I kept going. "Someone who'd take in children who aren't hers. Who'd starve herself so they could eat. Who'd stand onbroken streets with her chin high, even when she deserves so much more than this city has ever given her."
Her lips parted. A tiny, wounded sound escaped her, disbelief or hope or both.
"Inga," I said, realizing I didn't even know her last name but not caring one bit, opening the box to show her the ring that felt like it held all my breath inside it, "you deserve someone to take care of you." Her tears fell harder now, and her hands were trembling. "Let it be me."
She covered her mouth again, a sob shaking through her. Her knees gave out a little, like the weight of the moment was too much for her thin body to hold.
"Marry me," I whispered. "Let me love you. Let me take you out of this. Let me give you a life where you never have to be afraid again."
The ring glowed between us, gold and light and promise.
"I can't give you the world," I said softly. "But I swear I will build you one."
She stared at me like she couldn't breathe. Like she'd been hit by something bigger than hope. Bigger than fear. Bigger than everything this ruined city had taken from her.
"Inga…" My voice broke on her name. "Say yes."
Berlin — July 21, 1948, Wednesday night
Tonight had beenone of the worst. Before I stepped outside and saw him standing under the lantern, everything hurt: my feet, my shoulders, my pride. Die Ecke had been packed with airmen and soldiers from three different sectors, all loud, all restless, all hungry for distraction.
One English soldier slapped my backside so hard my eyes watered.
I spun and dumped a full mug of beer over his head, and my boss made me pay for the beer.
Then a French officer pulled me into his lap and pretended it was a joke when I shoved myself free. A Russian in civilian clothes tried to follow me to the supply room until Elke stepped in and told him a British MP was watching.
Drunk men sang off-key. Someone vomited in the corner.A glass shattered when two Americans started a fistfight over a pack of cigarettes.
And I had to clean it all.
By eleven, my head throbbed. By midnight, my insides felt hollow and shaking. By closing, I wanted to curl up on the floor and disappear. So when I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air, I wasn't expecting a miracle. But there he was.
Gideon Griffin.
Standing under the lantern as if he'd been painted there by some generous dream. For one foolish second, the world softened. The noise faded. My heart stopped hurting.
A thought hit me uninvited, childish, reckless.What if he were my boyfriend?
What if this—this man with the gentle eyes and impossible shoulders and quiet strength—was really here for me? My stomach fluttered, betraying me completely. Because it wasn't just gratitude. It wasn't just what he'd done for Klaus, Axel, and Hilde.
It was him.
The way his presence settled me, steadied me, like I didn't have to hold up the sky alone.
